


When the Sky Falls

by Dogsled



Series: Season 13 Codas [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Coda, Episode: s13e01 Lost and Found, Gen, God Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Prayer, Season/Series 13 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:33:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12391890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled
Summary: 13x01 Coda - SPOILERS!Chuck was just trying to enjoy his holiday...





	When the Sky Falls

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS  
> You have been warned.

Chuck stared up at the sky above Him, smudging a thumb against His lips. He was worried. Okay, not worried; _never_ worried. Worrying implied He might care too much. Worrying implied Dean Winchester couldn’t handle it. But what if this time he couldn’t? What if this was all too much? What if losing Castiel unravelled everything that a frightened little boy had managed to make of himself since losing his mother?

 

It wasn’t what He’d have wanted for him. When he’d appeared with Cas in the prophet’s home that day, struck out on the path of free will, it had never been part of the story. Maybe there _had_ been a back up plan; a woman introduced, a possible pseudo-son he didn’t/did have, so that he could prove that being John Winchester’s boy didn’t poison him as a person or as a father—but an angel had thrown a wrench in those works.

 

Really, He’d thought that the obvious love interest was Anna for a minute there. Who knew that it was Castiel; who knew that all along the writer had influenced the text with His own bisexuality. Talk about an author insert. Wait. Was it still bisexuality when you slept with people of other species? Did it really matter that He was the Creator of those species? And what about people who slept with robots? _They_ were just creepy… Was _He_ creepy?

 

Kneading His temple, Chuck sat up on the sun lounger, reaching for the banana daiquiri on the table beside Him. The infinity pool glistened in the sun, the gently trickling of water across the ledge a soothing ambient noise. Amara was doing lengths, spinning in the water and letting the warmth of the sun heat Her body. She enjoyed swimming, He’d discovered, while Chuck… Well, that was why He’d invented land.

 

Dean’s prayer throbbed behind His eyes, stronger than anything because it was directed by His Name, with such vehemence – such anger; bitterness - that it made His heart hurt to hear it.

 

_We've lost everything. And you're going to bring him back..._

 

Dean was suffering, and here _He_ was, sipping cocktail through a novelty bendy straw and staring out at the cruise ships on the horizon. Life went on. It always went on.

 

It wasn’t that He blamed him for the hatred, for the despair. Everything that Dean had been through - _his entire life_ \- fit into that plan—and even the things that had been supposed to be good had eventually hurt him. But Chuck had the power. Why not destroy the tablets? He knew where they were buried. Why not destroy all the evidence of magic that would let someone feed off the souls in Purgatory? Why not tidy up His own mess, empty His own attic and smite His own naughty kids, instead of leaving Team Free Will to do it for Him?

 

But He couldn’t stand to look at His mistakes. He couldn’t stand to be involved. He was a Creator, not a destroyer; that was what He’d created angels for, after all; to do what he couldn’t. If it had turned around to bite Him on the ass then that was ultimately His fault too. He could bring back Castiel, sure, but He could never keep him from _dying_ again, not when he was loyal to a fault; not when he would throw himself into the jaws of death every time if it was his duty. Or just because Dean asked him to.

 

And love?

 

They loved each other. Chuck hadn’t written that part, but there it was. They _loved_ each other, and that was what made it hurt that much more, just as it had for Him with Lucifer; with Amara. Really, Dean was better off without it. That hurt just didn’t go away, and He could feel it in the prayer: Dean was as experienced with losing as he was at getting back. But if Chuck acquiesced, if He gave back Cas and Mary and Eileen and Crowley, then how would He stop it from hurting when life marched on and circumstances took them away from him again?

 

Sooner or later the hurt had to stick. Giving Castiel back, in particular, would open the door for more hurt than Dean had ever known. There was no doubt he knew now; the unforgiving pain that went with the prayer said as much, an “I love you” that would never be answered; ears that would never hear the reply. If Cas went back then Dean would tell him—and who would be there to pick up the pieces next time?

 

Who? Chuck, that was who; Chuck as usual; _Chuck_ who had to listen to the heartbreaking prayers of people who couldn’t fix things themselves, who craved some higher power to do it for them.

 

Because they felt like they were owed that much.

 

He lay back, breathing out slowly, looking back up at the sky. The part of Him that wanted to help was there, the part of Him that had brought Cas back before half a dozen times already; that would have carried on doing it without question. But then would Dean ever learn? Would he ever grow? Would he ever be able to move past the angel with the blue eyes and fall in love with himself again?

 

Chuck doubted it.

 

He scrubbed an itch away from the corner of His eye. Dean wasn’t done. He could hear his words as clearly as if they were shouted straight in His ear, breathed out from between one sob and the next:

 

_Please. Please help us._

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” He answered, to nobody in particular. Amara slowed in Her stride and glanced across at Him questioningly. “I can’t do it this time.”

 

He sighed. The sky was still right where He’d left it. It hadn’t begun to fall just because He’d had a grandson. It wouldn’t. The sky was resilient like that; resilient like Dean had to learn to be.

 

“It’s okay. I know you won’t thank me. People never mean it anyway.”


End file.
